


reds and oranges and yellows

by lostnfound14



Series: through the seasons [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Michelle Jones, F/M, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, POV Michelle Jones, Peter is oblivious, Precious Peter Parker, as usual, enjoy, god i fucking love petermj, mj pines, peter is unknowingly suave as fuck, still stupid kids, the theme of this fic is autumn, they are so soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-10-30 06:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20809871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostnfound14/pseuds/lostnfound14
Summary: Michelle smiled because she was surrounded by the essence of her favorite season, by blood red and canary yellow, by wind and those small swirls of leaves that would spin around like a small tornado when they were caught in it, by that feeling she couldn’t describe. Fall. And normally, she’d think, sharing this season with someone like Peter Parker would desecrate her view of it, but oddly, it made it… better, somehow.-Peter and Michelle in autumn.





	reds and oranges and yellows

**Author's Note:**

> ah ha ha guys what’s up i’m back at it again with these soft boys, our favorites, peter and mj! since fall has technically begun i was inspired to write something centered on that, and this is the product. naturally, mj is distressed and pining. naturally, peter is oblivious. naturally, they are meant for each other. leave kudos and comment with opinions, observations, or suggestions for future fics! enjoy!

Fall is, without a doubt, Michelle Jones’s favorite season. To her, fall is more than just yellows, oranges and reds, scarves and boots, hot cider and tea (although those are some things she greatly appreciates). Fall is a blanket of cold air that, interestingly, warms her soul. 

Why? What’s so special about that unfairly short three-month span that people call autumn? 

Well, to answer your question, Michelle would tell you about the time she was hanging out with the two losers at the park and looking out at the trees and snorting with laughter at a joke Peter made about the way their Physics teacher had made a complete fool of himself during their lab earlier that day.

She was just coming down from a laughing fit, opening her eyes from their previously scrunched-closed state, when she looked at Peter. 

He was basking in the glory of making an actually _ good _ joke for once - the rest were usually shitty science puns, like his t-shirts - with a smug grin on his face, but when Michelle’s gaze lifted to his eyes, she felt disarmed by the _ intensity _displayed within them, surrounded by the fiery colors of the fallen leaves that lay on the ground behind him.

His look was intense, and soft, somehow, at the same time. The worst (best?) part was that he had chosen to direct his honey-brown irises upon _ her _while still having that look in his eye that she was sure would partially buckle her knees if they were standing.

Even then, Michelle could feel her knees quaking slightly. She uncertainly raised an eyebrow at him, in her best attempt to not betray any evidence of discomfort, and the look in his eyes disappeared as he looked around her at Ned.

Michelle didn’t know whether to feel proud of catching him staring or to focus on her irregular heartbeat that was being caused by that particular dork with the gelled hair and unfairly impressive muscles.

She was just observant.

She flattened a particularly crunchy leaf under her foot to distract herself as the dorks started to get into a semi-heated debate about… something. She wasn’t really listening because she was too enveloped in her own thoughts.

The leaves laid in front of them were all stunning colors. Plenty were the burgundy and burlap shades of leaves that were long dead, but some were red, some were orange, and some were yellow, sticking out like the tips of a flame that Michelle needed to surround herself with if she was going to get over just how damn cold it was-

“MJ?” she heard Parker ask. “You’re shivering.” 

“What?” she said, teeth chattering between that and her following statement: “No, I’m not.” He laughed. God damn it, how she hated (loved) it when he laughed. It was a fluttery sound, not unlike the way her stomach felt whenever she heard it. He would throw his head back with a smile on his face, eyes closed, eyebrows turned upwards in happiness, then he’d come back down, still grinning dorkily (adorably).

Yes, she had memorized everything he did when he laughed. And now she watched it play out in front of her, and she had to hold herself back from ticking off the boxes in her head as he completed each step.

“It’s okay to be cold, MJ,” Ned pointed out beside her. She turned her gaze to the boy on her other side and scoffed.

“I’m _ not _c-cold,” she insisted, wrapping her arms tightly around herself as she did so. She was pretty much digging her own grave. 

She needed to wipe her nose. So she did, and she inspected the sleeve of her cargo jacket, turning it over as she twisted her wrist, because she was not about to look at the concerned faces of the two dorks that were on either side of her. If she did, she would surely do something stupid, like show vulnerability.

“Come on, MJ,” Parker said. “All you have on is that jacket. You must be freezing.” Sometimes, he could be so damn annoying (considerate) and it would make her brain turn to mush for a moment. 

_ Like when he saw her strained expression behind a stack of textbooks that she had been carrying all day and rushed to her side and offered to take the books. All of them. Not just one, or two. All. _

_ And before even waiting for her to say _ No, Parker, I can handle it, _ he practically snatched them out of her grasp and began carrying them without even grunting in surprise at the absolute heft of the load. She glared at him, but he didn’t notice, because he was busy adjusting the books in his arms. She clutched her bicep (what little there was of it) and she had to admit, it was a welcome change. And also, she could see the muscles he poorly hid under his baggy sweaters rippling as he moved, so any attempt to berate him would probably have come out as a jumbled mess of words. _

“Okay,” she conceded. “I might be a little bit cold.” She watched Parker smirk victoriously, and she hated (loved) it when he smirked too because, God, the way he would bite his lower lip and quirk his eyebrows just so -

“Take my jacket.”

She recoiled slightly, taken aback. “What?”

“I have, like, four layers under this. Take it,” he said again. Michelle shook her head vehemently and returned to her slouch against the hard, cold wood of the bench.

“No way, Parker.” He almost looked crestfallen at her refusal, she thought (hoped). Then a wave of shivers overtook her again, and her teeth chattered and her arms shook, and before she knew it he was unzipping his jacket and draping it over her shoulders. 

“It’s warm,” he said, eyes twinkling as one of his hands ghosted over her shoulder (she kind of hoped he would close the space) with the jacket still bunched up within it. “Trust me.”

“Fine,” she said, her voice a bit too breathy for her taste. His hands returned to his sides, and she didn’t (did) miss the feeling of his hands _ almost _touching her. Without another word, she shoved her arms through the sleeves of his jacket, instantly feeling a few degrees warmer than she had a second ago. It was not fair how comfy this jacket was. She pulled the hood up over her head without a second thought, but then she heard the conversation of the dorks falter and she could feel their eyes on her.

“Getting comfy, are we?” Leeds asked mockingly, and instantly she shot him a look that could kill. He jumped back so fast he almost fell off the bench, and it was hard to deliver a deep-cutting remark while trying to stifle a laugh.

Parker chuckled quietly behind her as she managed, “Shut up, Leeds.”

Shit, this jacket was warm. She snuggled up within it, and it smelled like him. Shit, it _ smelled _like him. Like his shampoo, his cologne, his smell of “boy.” 

She thought the mixture was weird (soothing) and she breathed deeply, finally feeling her hands and face warm up with the rest of her body. “You know, Parker,” she finally spoke, “it’s criminal how warm this jacket is. I might have to arrest you.”

Silence.

God, why did she even try to make that joke? It was so pathetic. God, she was pathetic, and now Parker and Leeds probably thought she was just as much a loser as they were. _ I might have to arrest you? _Seriously, Jones, I mean-

And then they were laughing. Hard. She didn’t know whether it was at her or with her, and she hated not knowing, her stomach starting to twist itself in knots. She simply sat in quiet embarrassment, feeling her cheeks heat up. She was probably as red as a damn stop sign right about now.

“Did…” Leeds said, wheezing. “Did Michelle Jones just… make a _ joke?” _

She decided on her usual dry tone. “Yeah, and never expect to hear one ever again.” She shrugged, allowing herself to feel the warmth of his jacket again. It covered her in waves.

“MJ, that was… really funny,” the other loser said. When she turned to look at him, she almost expected to see a pained look of sympathy on his face, but instead, he was smiling faintly and looking at her with a small nervous wonder. Was he… awed? Not just for the obvious reason (she just made a joke, something that had absolutely astronomical odds of actually happening)? She hoped.

Hope was a funny thing. Many times earlier in her life, it had failed her. When her parents started disagreeing on every little issue, she hoped they would get back on the same page soon. When her father moved out of the house, she hoped he would come back. When her mother told her they were getting divorced, and what that meant, she hoped they would get married again. When her mother started bringing home random men every week, she hoped they would leave as soon as possible.

Naturally, hope never worked out on her behalf. So when she looked at Peter’s twinkling eyes and subtle smile, she brushed it off as nothing, simply a reaction to her joke and not _ her. _

“Whatever,” she deflected, unable to accept compliments for the life of her. Usually, the ones she received were backhanded and so she had built up walls in order to never be affected by them ever again. Just with a look and a few kind words, though, Peter had been able to make a crack in the bricks.

They laid off of her after that, falling back into easy conversation with Michelle only butting in when she felt necessary, and she began to feel comfortable once more. 

Then, Ned looked at his phone and realized it was six o’clock, and he had to get the fuck home or else his mom would kill him. He rushed a goodbye, only giving himself enough time to do his handshake with the other dork and offer Michelle a tight little wave.

She waved back. It would have been rude not to. Not because she was nice, or anything.

And now, she was alone. With _him. _ Parker. Peter. Peter Parker. Loser extraordinaire. Flake. Nerd. Dork.

Stupid crush.

“Um, I can walk you home,” Parker offered, shifting his weight from foot to foot, smoothing his hair down with a hand that he ran slowly through it. “If that’s... okay? Your place is on the way to mine.” 

Michelle mulled this over. First of all, she didn’t want to deal with any more embarrassment, to which she was very prone when he was in her vicinity. Second of all, however, it was a polite offer, and she would feel like an asshole for turning it down (she couldn’t figure why she cared), and third of all, she was still wearing his jacket and didn’t want to walk home while freezing her buns off.

So that’s why she mumbled, “Okay,” and didn’t wait for him to start walking down the path in the direction of her apartment. To his credit, he caught up quickly and matched her stride, which was a bit fast. Could you blame her? Even though Parker’s jacket was doing wonders for her body heat, it wasn’t powered by renewable energy.

An uncomfortable silence surrounded them like a wet blanket, permeated by the autumn wind. 

Fuck, it was cold. Her hands twitched at her sides, clenching and unclenching into fists, fidgeting against the denim of her jeans, anything to keep them occupied. 

Suddenly, she felt his knuckles brush against her own, a touch that sent electricity up her forearm to her shoulder, to her spine, to the rest of her body. Well, shit, she was already well insulated by this monster of a jacket, all she needed was an outlet to stick her fingers into and she’d produce a current.

He chuckled nervously, and she huffed in amusement, not knowing how to deal with the situation. They were simply two bumbling idiots, and she had cold hands.

“Actually…” she wondered aloud, and she could see his head turn to face hers out of her peripheral. Then, before she could change her mind, she was reaching for his hand again and quickly intertwining her fingers with his so quickly that it felt second-nature. Then she realized that his hand was rigid, unmoving, and she risked a glance at his upturned eyebrows and slightly agape mouth.

“Um…” He tried. She could anticipate maybe five possible questions he was about to ask, and she didn’t want to hear a single one in fear of being embarrassed. He was good enough at that already.

“Don’t say anything, Parker,” she hissed, almost whispered, like someone was listening in on their conversation. He leaned in to hear her better, and she almost brought herself closer, close enough so that her lips would brush against his ear as she spoke, but her self-control won out. “My hands are cold. Yours are warm.” 

Michelle pulled back to watch him consider it, and eventually, he nodded, albeit uncertainly. “Okay…” he mumbled, drawing out the “y” sound.

He slowly curled his fingers around hers and held her hand, and if she wasn’t so focused on the fact that she and Peter were fucking _holding hands _she would find it within herself to enjoy it.

And she hadn’t lied. His hands _were _warm. Like, unfairly warm. There were a lot of things about him that she found unfair. His ability to space out for minutes at a time yet always have the correct answer when called on by a teacher trying to catch him lacking. His ability to turn her legs to jelly when she can’t even come close to having the same power over him. His annoying(ly hot) muscles. 

“God, your hand is cold,” he said, laughing. Michelle flushed. What gave him the right to be so damn pretty? He was the perfect model for her sketches (yes, sketch_es, _ plural, that one she did of Parker in detention was barely the tip of the iceberg) and when she wasn’t sketching him she was observing him. A lesser mind would have called it stalking. She preferred the former. It was more polite.

“I said shut up, dork,” she said, trying for a cutting tone but failing with all the damn chattering her teeth were doing.

“Well, actually, you said ‘don’t say anything,’ but I can forgive the misstep-” 

With that, she nuzzled into his side, attempting to get him to shut up, and it worked. The rest of his words died in his throat and he spluttered for anything to say, but she grinned when this went on for about ten seconds. She had won.

But now she was in a rather compromising position, digging herself into Peter’s side. He was warm, and she kind of liked the feeling of her arm pressed against his, faintly feeling the outline of his triceps even through his four layers. Yeah, he was jacked. Shit.

Awkwardly, Michelle pulled away, clearing her throat. Parker did the same. She needed to say something to distract from that… thing that had just happened.

“What’s your favorite season?” 

He’d beaten her to it. And yet she smiled because she was surrounded by the essence of her favorite season, by blood red and canary yellow, by wind and those small swirls of leaves that would spin around like a small tornado when they were caught in it, by that feeling she couldn’t describe. Fall. And normally, she’d think, sharing this season with someone like Peter Parker would desecrate her view of it, but oddly, it made it… better, somehow.

“This one,” she almost whispered, and she knew she sounded vulnerable, but being the gracious, far-too-polite person that he was, Parker said nothing of it.

“Me too,” he said, and her gaze snapped to him. Was he just saying that to be nice? He didn’t have a mean bone in his body, she remembered. He meant it.

She tried to think of something, anything to keep the flow of this small conversation they had started, but she blanked. And she never blanked. She always had a sarcastic retort or snarky comment or backhanded compliment to say, and she blanked. Damn you, Parker. This was all his fault.

And yet he saved her again. “What do you like about fall?”

“I like… the feeling it gives me,” she admitted. Why the hell was she saying anything at all? He was only asking to be polite. He didn’t actually care what she had to say.

Yet when she glanced at him, she found his eyes again, staring into the very essence of her being, like he wanted to find out more. 

“What feeling is that?” He asked quietly like they were sharing some sort of secret. Hell, maybe they were. Michelle never told people anything about her, because the less they knew, the less it pained her when they walked out of her life. But she wanted to tell him more. She wanted to say that it was because she knew he was a vacuum of information and would stop at nothing to get the answers, but a part of it was wanting… a friend. 

She swung their hands between them, and he watched them move back and forth until they settled at their sides again. “It’s - _ fall _is the feeling, you know? Like, I can’t attribute an emotion on the conventional spectrum to it. It’s like, fall is its own shade. Completely separate. Um…” She lost her steam, sticking her free hand in her (his?) pocket. “Yeah.”

“I like that,” he said. Something in his tone sounded… enlightened. Like she’d given him a new perspective. “You know, that’s, like, really interesting, actually. I’ve never, like, thought about attributing feelings to seasons, or- you know-” He gestured wildly, and she watched his hand flail out from his other side with mild amusement. “Seeing seasons _as _emotions. But I like that. Because I’ve definitely felt it.”

Something within her, her heart, she guessed, warmed at his acceptance of her sentiment. “Yeah?” She asked, a simple question, and she glanced at him to gauge his reaction. His eyes were twinkling and he was smiling gently again in that way that almost made her stumble as she observed it.

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “I bet there’s, like, a really cool scientific name for that. You know, um, synesthesia?” She nodded, urging him to continue and suppressing a laugh when he stumbled over his next few words, covering her mouth so that she wouldn’t dissolve into giggles. Michelle Jones didn’t giggle. “Like, color to a feeling, a person to a smell, whatever, a season to an emotion.” He pondered this, looking down at his shoes. “You know what, maybe… maybe you have synesthesia?” Instead of ending his sentence definitely, with a period, he asked a question when he finished like he didn’t want to assign it to her without her go-ahead.

“Maybe,” she agreed. “But I’m pretty sure it would be, like, all-encompassing. Not just super small-scale, not just something like this.” He nodded understandingly, frowning a bit. He pressed his lips together and exhaled through his nose, and Michelle wanted to do… something… to his face.

Jesus. No. No, she didn’t.

She settled on squeezing his hand, and he smiled and squeezed back. She felt small under his gaze and his disarming grin, but a good small. People always mocked her for being tall, as if it were something she could control. However, Peter, who she had two inches on, was someone who brought her down to his level, instead of making her feel like her head was in the clouds, and made her feel like a person, not a beanpole.

“Oh, uh, crap. This is me,” she said quickly, noticing that they were almost walking past her house.

“Oh,” he breathed, looking… disappointed? Yet he didn’t let go of her hand. She didn’t let go of his either. They stood facing each other, hands still grasping each other between them, and neither said anything for a moment.

“Um, thanks.”

He frowned slightly and tilted his head like a puppy. It looked dumb (cute as all hell). “For what?”

“For… all of this.” She couldn’t say the words out loud, but he smiled like he understood. She smiled too.

“Any time, MJ,” he said, his voice warm and kind, and quiet.

An impulse popped up in her brain like one of those ads you get on those shady websites. So she let it overtake her, and she leaned in and pecked him on the cheek so instantaneously and pulled back to her original position so fast that she wasn’t sure she even did it. Her lips burned from the contact with his cheek, and she resisted the urge to rest her fingers on them.

Before he could say anything because she saw his mouth falling open, most likely to say words, she interrupted. “That was platonic,” she said quickly. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch.” He stared at her for a moment like he definitely wasn’t thinking of what she did as platonic, but then he laughed out loud, eyes scrunching up into a squint and mouth smiling and open, putting his beautifully white teeth on display for all (one) to see.

“My panties are unbunched,” he said, and she couldn’t help but laugh too. He almost looked proud of making her laugh. Admittedly, it was no simple feat, because she didn’t find many things funny. But she let herself laugh, because sure, sometimes he made some good jokes.

Michelle unzipped the jacket quickly and shrugged out of it, holding it out for him to take. He reached out and grabbed it, pulling it from her hands slowly and starting to push his arms through the sleeves. “Okay, now get out of here,” she said, patting him gently on the arm. She didn’t even realize what she was doing.

He nodded and smiled again, and swear to God, she would have had to kiss him again if he hadn’t stepped away from her then and started going down the block.

“See you tomorrow, MJ,” he called over his shoulder and she waved gently. His smile grew at that and he stuck up his own hand, finally turning away from her.

It was then when she realized that it was still fucking freezing outside, so she rushed to her door, pulling out her keys, but not before she looked back at Peter one last time.

His hand was ghosting over the spot where she had brushed her lips against his soft skin, and then he looked down at his hand like it was some alien object. Michelle couldn’t help but smile proudly.

Then she turned back to her door, twisted the key in the lock, and groaned in pleasure when the suffocating warmth of the entry of her house surrounded her.

It wasn’t platonic at all.

**Author's Note:**

> how was that? i hope you enjoyed reading! i absolutely love this pair which is well established by now but like i love them love them. they’re so soft and cute and awkward and i love writing about that. leave a comment if you made it to the end! check out my other fics! thanks for reading! until the next!


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